Drowning On Dry Land
by EmyPink
Summary: He had killed her. Written for the NFA Tearjerker Challenge. McGiva.
1. My Last Breath

**Drowning On Dry Land**

By EmyPink

_Written for the NFA Tearjerker Challenge_

**Rating:** T

**Genre:** Angst, Tragedy, Drama, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Slight Romance

**Characters:** McGee, Ziva, et al

**Parings:** McGiva

**Warnings:** Uh, well, I don't think it's particularly tearjerking, but anyways . . .

**Word Count: **8,638 words

* * *

**Chapter One:** _My Last Breath_

"Tell me again why Gibbs decided it was a good idea to look for evidence in the middle of a storm," Ziva huffed as she and McGee gingerly exited the warm, and dry, car. She slammed the door shut with a little more force than necessary.

Immediately, drops of rain assaulted their faces and McGee awkwardly raised his arm to semi-cover his face from the downpour. It failed rather well. The rain continued to pelt down, soaking them in seconds. Ziva sighed and pulled her black NCIS jacket closer to her body.

"He, uh, wants us to get new evidence before it's washed away," McGee said through chattering teeth. He managed to take a step towards the trunk of car.

Ziva snorted and looked up at the dark clouds. "Well, I think that idea has gone down the," she paused before saying hesitantly, "drain?"

McGee offered her a small smile as he popped open the trunk. She smiled triumphantly in return, knowing that she'd gotten the phrase correct. But then she frowned as the rain continued to fall.

"Catch," he said, throwing her a small, cylindrical object. She reached out and grasped it clumsily; the visibility through the rain was low.

She looked down and saw that she was clutching a small umbrella. It was then that she noticed its pattern. Ziva looked at McGee, horrified.

"McGee," she started carefully, "why do you have a Disney Princess umbrella in a NCIS issued car." She looked warily at her partner.

Even in the rain, Ziva could see McGee blush. "Uh," he stuttered, cheeks going red from Ziva's look. "It's, uh, not mine," he tried weakly.

"I should hope not," Ziva smirked. "But that does not answer my question."

"It's Sarah's, okay," McGee muttered as he handed her a backpack. He then proceeded to disappear in the direction of their crime scene. He indicated for Ziva to follow, which she did grudgingly, popping open the pink princess umbrella.

"Yes, that may be so," Ziva said as McGee held back a wet branch to let her pass. She smiled at him. "Toda." Then she continued, "But it does not explain why it was in the car."

McGee sighed as he brushed past a wet bush. "Sarah left it in my car the last time she was in it, and I thought we might need it at the crime scene so I put it in the car. I mean . . ." He gestured to the sky and the falling rain. "We don't want the evidence to get wet."

"I think it is a little late for that," Ziva replied, grinning. She shook her head and little droplets of water tumbled off, even under the umbrella. She grimaced. "Gibbs is not going to be happy when we bring back soggy evidence," she sighed.

McGee shrugged. "Well," he said tentatively, "it's not really our fault. We can't exactly, you know, control the weather." He side-stepped a large puddle. Ziva followed his actions.

Ziva cocked her head to the side. "Good point, but Gibbs will still not be happy."

"I know," McGee sighed. "But we have a job to do, no matter what the results are."

Ziva nodded her agreement and fell silent. They continued to weave their way through the thick bushes of the woodlands where their dead Petty Officer had been found. It certainly had been a pleasanter experience that morning when it had been vaguely sunny. The rain was coming thick and fast, and both agents could hear the sound of the overflowing stream off to their left.

Suddenly, the piece of land where Ziva had placed her foot a moment ago slipped away. She yelped as she slipped in the mud, falling towards. The umbrella clattered to the ground as she lost her grip. McGee turned around at her yelp, and immediately felt a body skid into his arms. He instinctively steadied her as Ziva's face remained pressed to his chest.

"Oomph," came Ziva's muffled voice, and then a string of foreign-sounding words. She used his arms to pull herself upright and looked up to his face. She offered him a half-smile, half-grimace. "Sorry, McGee," she muttered.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned. He failed to notice that he was still gripping her shoulders where he'd grabbed her to steady her.

"I am fine," Ziva replied. "I slipped on some mud." Then she paused and a smirk found its way to her face. "You can let go now, McGee. I do not believe I will be falling down again."

"Oh, right." McGee stepped back hurriedly and let his hands fall limply to his sides. He blushed again, causing Ziva to chuckle. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," Ziva said off-handedly. "You save me from some potential teasing by Tony." She smiled at him, and said, "I think I may have dropped that abominable item known as an umbrella." She looked around for the umbrella, even though it was basically useless in this weather.

"Here, I'll get it," McGee said as he spotted the pink umbrella. He strode over to the umbrella, picked it up and looked at it critically. It had landed in a mud puddle. "I think Cinderella may need a new dress," he deadpanned. McGee then shrugged and offered the item to Ziva.

"I am doubting it will do much good anymore, but thank you." She took the umbrella from McGee, but did not raise it. Ziva gave McGee a "come on" look and continued towards the crime scene. McGee followed, this time with Ziva in the lead.

* * *

When they reached the crime scene, the rain had let up a little. But it didn't make any difference to the two wet and soggy NCIS agents. And not only that, although the rain had let up, the wind had started to gather momentum.

"Well, this is going to be . . . fun," Ziva commented dryly, a little annoyed. Their previously contained crime scene was a muddy mess. McGee gave her a look that showed that he agreed with her.

"Let's just do it," McGee suggested. "The quicker we do it, the quicker we can get back to headquarters." Ziva nodded her agreement.

Thinking on her feet, Ziva opened the muddy umbrella and placed it over a patch of leaves that looked vaguely dry. She deposited her backpack on the leaves and underneath the umbrella, hoping that it would at least kinda keep the already wet bag dry. McGee copied, giving her a "smart idea" look.

They started pawing through the muddy location, looking for the evidence that Abby had vehemently assured them that they would find. Unfortunately, that prediction had been before the torrid of rain, and now their chances of finding the objects were slim and fading fast as the weather became worse. And they could see the stream off to their left at its bursting point, ready to soak what little they had left of their crime scene.

Five minutes later, the rain started getting heavier and McGee looked up as he heard Ziva's frustrated growl. She looked at him, a dangerous look in her eye.

"This is pointless," she huffed, storming over to where McGee was searching. "We are not going to find whatever Abby thinks we will find." She glared at McGee, making him flinch when it wasn't even his fault.

Ziva saw his face and sighed. "I am sorry, McGee. I am just fed-up with all this rain." She pulled a face.

"You and me both," McGee grumbled, mirroring Ziva's facial expression.

Ziva offered him a half-smile. "Well, at least it is not Tony. No doubt he would be making inappropriate comments about how my shirt is sticking to my body."

"Yeah, I guess." McGee didn't quite know how to respond to that comment.

Ziva looked thoughtful. "Do you think Gibbs will kill us if we give up and head back to base?"

"Most likely."

"Yes," she sighed, "that is what I thought, also." She paused. "I say we give it another five minutes and then head back to NCIS."

McGee nodded his agreement as the rain continued to fall. "Sounds like a plan."

"Good. I will continue over here." Ziva indicated to the section of the crime scene about four feet away from the rushing stream.

"Okay," McGee replied, secretly grateful that he didn't have to scavenge the section closest to the stream. "I'll just finish up here."

He got a muffled response from Ziva, so he looked back down at the muddy dirt. McGee sighed. This was not how he'd envisioned his day. He would rather put up with Tony's teasing than be out here in the cold and the wet. He groaned internally, five minutes was going to seem like five years in this weather.

A moment later, something caught his eye in the pouring rain. McGee looked at it curiously, and then bent down to study it more closely. Even with the low visibility caused by the rain, McGee could just make out its shape to be . . .

Suddenly, a sound snapped McGee out of his inspection of the yet unidentified object. He looked up as he heard a female shriek. McGee stumbled to his feat and his eyes snapped to where Ziva had been canvassing. His eyes widened as he watched, with fascinated horror, her stagger and fall. Even from his distance, he could see the pure shock in Ziva's eyes as she fell backwards, her splash mixing with the falling rain.

* * *

It was like time stood still as he stood there in pure horror, unable to move. McGee was mesmerised by the spot where Ziva had just been standing. One moment she was there, the next, disappeared. His mind was void of all thought; the only thing he registered was the deafening pounding of the rain against his eardrums.

Patter, patter.

Drip, drop.

Splash.

Patter, patter.

Drip, drop.

Splash.

But then he heard a desperate female voice cry, "McGee!"

McGee jumped, as if he'd just been shocked back to life. Time started to move and McGee took off in the direction of Ziva's cry. He stumbled and the rain tried to trip him up, but he was working on pure adrenaline. He ignored the mud, and the rain, and the wind, and instead focused on her face, projecting an image of her into his mind. This gave McGee extra strength as he skidded to a stop at the edge of the stream, teetering precariously on its edge.

He gaped at the scene in front of him. The stream was alive. The water flowed furiously through the overflowing stream, making little rapids around Ziva's body. It was clawing at her, willing her to let go of the branch she was holding onto. She was defying the water, gripping the branch with every single ounce of her strength. Now, instead of looking shocked or horrified, Ziva had a look of determination on her face as she fought against the water.

She looked up at his gaping face and grimaced. "McGee!" she yelled, glaring at him. "Help! Do not just stand there like a brick wall. Do something!"

"Right, uh, help." McGee shook his head, trying to clear the pounding echo of the rain from it. It took him a few seconds to register that the branch Ziva was furiously hanging onto was within his reach. If he could just get her hand . . .

"Ziva," McGee yelled, reaching unceremoniously towards her. "Grab onto my hand. I'll pull you up."

Even with the water racing around her, Ziva gave him an exasperated look. "You cannot take my weight."

"Who says?" McGee snapped, a little put out that Ziva did not believe that he could do it. He stretched out his hand. "Grab my hand."

Ziva hesitated, so he yelled, "Grab my hand or you'll be swept down that godforsaken river." When she still didn't act, he yelled angrily, "Now!"

He was surprised at how steady his voice sounded. Inside, his heart was pounding in his chest and he was panicking big time. He honestly had no idea what he was doing; it was like unconscious thought had taken over. McGee was petrified, absolutely petrified, but still, he stretched out further, praying that Ziva would believe in him enough to grasp his hand.

She did, and he felt her smaller hand clasp onto his palm. Ziva still had one hand clutching the branch, but the other was now safely and firmly in his own, or so he hoped.

"Just hold on, Ziva," he called out to her, new resolve appearing with her touch. He tugged, but as she was still hanging onto the branch, it only resulted in McGee falling to his belly. He splashed in the mud, but he didn't even notice. The rain was still falling, making his daring rescue even harder.

"You'll have to grab my other hand," he yelled, steadying himself on his stomach before stretching out his right hand.

Ziva shook her head. "If I let go, I will slip and fall." She started to look just a little bit worried.

"No, you won't, I promise," McGee promised, gazing into her eyes, trying to get her to trust him. "I would never let you go, Ziva. Ever." Their eyes locked for a moment, connected by a common goal. Then Ziva nodded.

"Okay, I trust you, Tim," Ziva replied. "But if you let go . . ." She let the threat dangle mid-air.

"I won't, I promise," McGee repeated and braced himself for the extra weight.

He watched as Ziva took a deep breath and unclenched the branch. For a fleeting moment, McGee thought that it was all over, that Ziva would be carried away by the stream, leaving him alone. But then, a hand found his and he held on with every single inch of willpower he had.

Ziva's hands were cold in his own, but he gripped them as if his life depended on it. Actually, he noted humorlessly, Ziva's life _did_ depend on his grip. So with that thought in mind, McGee gripped her hands tighter, and pulled.

It failed.

Ziva was still dangling in the rapid water; he could see her trying to use her feet to push herself upwards. McGee tried again, using every bit of strength he could muster. And still it failed.

"It is not working," Ziva commented as she concentrated on holding McGee's hands.

'Don't you think I know that,' he snapped to himself before saying reassuringly, "It's okay, Ziva. I'll get you out of there. I promised, remember." She looked at him tiredly. McGee could see that that she was getting sick of fighting the frothy water.

"Let's try again," McGee shouted enthusiastically and tugged at Ziva's arms.

Nothing.

And to his absolute horror, he felt her hands slip slightly from his grasp. He panicked. It was wet, slippery, windy and muddy . . . It was rather surprising that he'd held onto her this long.

"Ziva! Ziva! Don't let go," McGee yelled, panicked. "Just . . ." he trailed off, unable to think properly or give a proper, coherent command.

"I am sorry, McGee," Ziva sighed weakly. The water was cold, the rain was clouding her vision and the wind was pounding in her head. Frankly, Ziva did not have much fight left in her.

"NO!" McGee yelled as Ziva's left hand slipped away. He used his free hand to grip her right one, begging the Gods to stop it from slipping.

They did nothing.

In perhaps the single worst moment of his entire life, Ziva's final hand, her final piece of life, slipped from his grasp. McGee felt her fingers slide along his palm, like slices of life draining away. He tried. McGee tried with every single fibre in his body. He grunted and pulled, gripping her fingertips with everything that he had. And in that fleeting second between life and death, he made a dozen promises to God, if only He would save her. He pulled on her hand . . .

And then, nothing.

Gasping, McGee found himself gripping thin air, Ziva's icy hand no longer in his palm. There was a moment, a single moment, as McGee watched in utter horror as Ziva was swept away by the ferocious water, when their eyes met. And McGee was certain, dead certain, that he could see the accusatory glare in her eyes, blaming him for her impending and certain death.

He had let go when he promised he wouldn't.

It was as simple as that.

As McGee's horrified screams of "Ziva" got lost in the blowing winds, as his tears mingled with the rains, there was only one thought that remained behind . . .

He had killed her.


	2. Take The Rain Away

**Chapter Two:** _Take The Rain Away_

_He had killed her._

"Timothy?" A familiar hand placed itself on his shoulder. McGee shrugged it off; human contact was not high on his list of things to do at this moment in time. "Timothy, dear boy, why don't you come out of the rain?"

McGee ignored Ducky and stared aimlessly across the riverbank; he was still sitting in the same spot where he had let go of her hand, the worst day of his life. He had felt the others arrive, though he barely remembered calling them, but he was yet to acknowledge them. He did not need to see their accusing eyes accompanied by their fake smiles of concern.

"You will catch hypothermia," Ducky tried in a tone of voice that McGee perceived as patronising concern when it was nothing of the sort. "Timothy, what happened was not you fault."

But still he said nothing and continued to watch as the rain made waves on the rippling water. He tried to count the number of drops that fell . . . one hundred, two hundred, three hundred . . . anything to stop the voice in his head screaming that he had betrayed her, killed her.

"Timothy, I have to insist that you move out of the rain," Ducky tried being firmer with the young agent, but elicited no response. "Timothy," he commanded.

Turning, McGee plastered what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face and indicated with a movement of his head that he was indeed "fine". He looked at Ducky, trying to convince Ducky (and himself) that he was "fine".

Ducky sighed and his face fell, but McGee did not really care that Ducky had seen through his false smile. Maybe Ducky would finally get the message and leave him alone, he did not want to hear the medical examiner sounding so falsely concerned or, heaven forbid, have him start chatting aimlessly about a story that no one really cared about. All he wanted was to be alone, to sit and block out the events of the day, but the constant stream of people made this nearly impossible. McGee almost regretted calling them, instead of jumping in after her. After all, it had been his fault, and it shouldn't have to be up to the others to clean up his mess.

McGee heard Ducky move away, but missed the concerned look Ducky threw over his shoulder as he walked. McGee sighed in relief. The others wouldn't be concerned enough to try and talk to him, so he was alone with only his demon as unwelcome company.

* * *

_He had killed her._

Abby whimpered as she threw her arms around the now shivering agent. She was standing and leaning over while he was sitting on the muddy ground.

"Timmy," she murmured against his neck as she wrapped him in her arms. Although he did not hug back, McGee allowed Abby to hug him, simply because she was Abby and this was what Abby did.

"Oh, Timmy," she repeated, squeezing him tighter, "it was not your fault. I know that, Gibbs knows that, and I am sure Z . . ." Her final words turned into a choking sob. She buried her face in his neck, but this time, McGee moved silently away from her, forcing her to let her arms fall limply to her side.

"McGee," she sounded concerned, but there was just a little hint of poutiness to her tone. "Tim, don't be like this." He remained silent, so she said, "At least have this towel." She draped a thick and fluffy towel over his shoulders, but it only took a few moments to become as wet and as soggy as the rest of his clothing.

McGee shrugged the extra weight off his shoulders once it became too heavy, letting it fall in the mud with a thump. Abby harrumphed, but wordlessly picked it up, thrusting it into the arms of the closest NCIS agent.

"Timmy, talk to me, please."

It almost sounded as if she were pleading, wanting to be the one that broke through his barriers, at least that's what it sounded like to McGee and he honestly couldn't careless about Abby's need to feel useful after Gibbs refused to allow her to search in one of the body recovery parties. In fact, Gibbs had tried make her stay back at headquarters, but being stubborn as Abby is, she had followed and was now hovering around McGee like an annoying mother hen.

"McGee, even if you are not going to talk to me, you can at least look at me," Abby demanded in a tone that McGee deemed whiny, even when it really was just concern. "McGee!"

As with Ducky, McGee ignored her, preferring to stare out into the nothingness that was a death trap. It was getting dark as the day drew closer to an end, and this did not bode well for the search parties. Body recovery, actually, McGee noted sourly. There was no way she could have survived, so it was now body recovery.

Body recovery.

That meant another funeral, another round of pain and heartache, another round of mourning someone that had gone before their time.

"Oh, McGee." Abby threw her arms around the shaking agent when she didn't get a response.

He finally looked up at her, a vacant look in his eyes and Abby gasped. That was when he knew for certain that they could all see the betrayal in his eyes, the monster that he had become, and were disgusted that he could have killed someone so bright and loved as Ziva.

But it wasn't that that made Abby gasp. It was the pain, the guilt, the pure horror of what he had caused reflecting back at her that had made her gasp. But it wasn't just that, it was also the look of a broken man, who blamed himself in every possible way for something that wasn't his fault. And the dullness, like the life had been stolen from Timothy McGee, and this scared her more than the very real possibility that Ziva David was dead.

* * *

_He had killed her._

"McGee," a gruff voice said as McGee felt a presence sit down next to him.

And McGee actually looked at him, more out of force of habit than anything else. This was his boss, and even after what McGee had done, he still felt that he owed his superior some respect.

Gibbs hesitated. "Look, McGee, I am not going to force you to talk . . ." For once in his life, McGee thought Gibbs sounded unsure of himself. "Because I am not into the sentimental stuff like Abby or Ducky . . ." And McGee would have laughed at Gibbs' tone when he said that, if he actually had some laughter in him.

"But I know what you are going through," Gibbs finished. "I can, well, understand . . ."

McGee laughed humourlessly to himself. Gibbs had just said he wasn't going to try and force McGee to talk, but it sounded very much like Gibbs was trying to sympathise with him, and in that way get him to open up.

He shrugged in response. Oh, he didn't doubt that Gibbs knew what he was going through, after all, he'd lost men before, but none of them had really been his fault. Gibbs hadn't had their lives so very firmly in his hands that he could actually feel as their life thread slipped away. That was what McGee had felt; Ziva's hands slipping away as he did nothing to stop it.

"It wasn't you fault, you know," Gibbs said suddenly, and McGee was getting sick of those repeated words when all he really wanted to do was scream that it really was his fault. "It could have been me, or Tony, or even Ziva in your position and the waters still would have been strong enough to take her."

McGee didn't reply and Gibbs sighed. "I don't know what I can do to make you see this, Tim." Gibbs looked pained in response to his young agent's clear distress, and it hurt him; he'd already lost one agent today, he didn't want to lose another.

Still, McGee said nothing and tuned Gibbs out of his head. There was nothing that any of them could do to make him forget what he already saw. He saw it so clearly . . .

The rush of the water . . .

The howling of the wind . . .

The constant rhythm of the rain . . .

_Patter, patter . . ._

_Drip, drop . . ._

_Splash . . ._

And then the nothingness . . .

Only the darkness . . .

And the nothingness . . .

* * *

"How long do you think he's been like that?" Tony asked as Gibbs rejoined their little huddle consisting of Abby, Ducky, himself and now Gibbs.

Gibbs shrugged. "Since Ziva disappeared." He checked his watch. "From what I gather, about two hours, maybe." He glanced at McGee huddled on the riverbank.

"We have to do something, Gibbs," Abby whimpered, looking downcast. "He can't stay like that. He thinks it's his fault. We've all tried talking to him –"

"I haven't," Tony offered. "I mean, I could talk to him."

"I don't think you are what Timmy needs at the moment," Abby noted, almost coldly. "He needs someone who will look after him, not a frat boy."

Tony glared at Abby rather coolly. "And who said him being mothered is what he needs," he sniped back.

"How would you know what he needs?" Abby retorted.

"Who made you such an . . ." Tony started to bite back, but Gibbs raised his hands.

"Enough," he bellowed in a low voice. He glared at the bickering pair. "Do not start with me, and stop acting like schoolchildren or I will treat you as such and get MacCullen over there to drive you back to NCIS before you can say search party. Our priority is Ziva, not who knows McGee best."

"Jethro is right," Ducky added. "The priority should be finding Ziva." He paused. "If she managed to get herself out of that stream, there is a chance that she survived."

"Really?" Abby brightened with a possible spark of hope.

"Yes, Abigail, there is a chance, a small one, but a chance," Ducky confirmed gently, not wanting to get Abby over optimistic about a good result that may not occur.

"A small chance you say," Tony said bitterly, "so there is a large chance that she drowned . . ."

"Tony," Abby hissed, "don't be such a pessimist. A small chance is better than no chance. Ziva could be alive."

"Aren't you just a regular Pollyanna," Tony muttered, looking annoyed. He raised his voice. "But chances are that Ziva is dead and we've got to accept that," he said flatly. "Everyone dies sooner or later, and what better way than on a lovely rainy day looking for evidence that would have been non-existent by the time they got here." He directed his last comment towards Gibbs.

Tony didn't care that he was hurting their feelings; he was hurting too, more than they realised. They had been so busy trying to talk to McGee that they hadn't been searching for his missing partner, but he had.

In the two or so hours since McGee had raised the alarm, Tony had been out with the other searchers, looking for signs of Ziva. Any sign would have done, but they had returned to base empty handed. And this had irritated Tony; he was wet, cold, hungry and potentially without a partner, and why, because McGee had let go of Ziva's hands and the rest of his team, instead of searching, had been mothering her killer.

He knew it wasn't true. None of this was McGee's fault, or Gibbs', or Abby's, or Ducky's, it was a freak accident that had claimed a life. But it was almost easier to blame someone for what had happened, to have someone to direct your anger towards, because really, you can't fight the force of nature, no matter how much you want to.

And so, it was with this thought that Tony said, "You know what, maybe it was Probie's fault that Ziva is dead."

Abby gasped and looked scandalised at his comment, Ducky looked mildly shocked and even Gibbs was taken aback.

"Tony, how can you . . ." Abby breathed, but Tony ignored her.

Instead, he strode over to where McGee was sitting, and punched him squarely in the jaw . . .

* * *

_He had killed her._

That was the one thought that was running through his head when a fist collided with his jaw. He fell sideways, stunned.

"That was for letting Ziva go," Tony said coldly, rubbing his knuckles.

Rubbing his jaw, McGee staggered to a sitting position and looked up at Tony with more spark than they has seen all day. And it was that spark that prompted Tony to send McGee back sprawling on the ground, clutching his jaw.

"Tony!" Abby shrieked as she rushed towards the pair. It was still raining and every single one of them was drenched by now. "Tony, what the hell do you think you are doing?"

She glared at him angrily before turning to McGee and cooing, "Are you okay, Tim? That looks nasty. I can get you some ice." She smiled at him gently, and reached for him, but McGee brushed her away and rose to his feet.

Then, without warning, McGee punched Tony back, not hard enough to make his fall, but hard enough to make him stumble backwards.

"Timothy!" This time it was Ducky who looked rather confused. "Timothy, what are you doing?" While Abby looked horrified, and Ducky confused, Gibbs looked knowingly.

McGee ignored Ducky's remarks, launched himself at Tony and they both fell backwards, landing heavily in the mud. McGee tried punching Tony again, but Tony rolled to the side.

"You can do better than that, Probie," Tony taunted so McGee tried again, this time landing a well placed blow to Tony's cheek.

Tony smirked. "Not bad, McGeek. But you left yourself open for this." Tony punched McGee in the stomach, not very hard, but just enough to making him wince and roll onto his back. Tony stumbled to his feet.

"Tony! McGee! Stop it!" Abby tried, but Gibbs placed a hand on her arm to hold her back.

McGee glanced briefly at their audience before having another go at Tony, but Tony managed to grab McGee's wrists and stop him mid-attack. And for the first time since Ziva had gone, McGee actually had a slight smile on his face.

"Thanks," McGee murmured, uttering his first words in two hours, just loud enough for Tony to hear. "Thank you."

Tony smiled knowingly. "No problem-o, Probie-o." McGee raised an eyebrow at Tony's rather awful nickname.

Tony shrugged and grinned softly. "What?"

Silence.

Then McGee's half-smile faded as he said in a hoarse voice, "It's just, I . . ." McGee shook his head; he wasn't really sure what he wanted to say.

But Tony just nodded and sighed, "I know, Probie, I know." He looked saddened.

Tears that previously had been unable to fall welled up in his eyes and Tony did something that was rather uncharacteristic of him.

Tony pulled McGee into a hug.

After getting over the initial shock of Tony's arms around his body, McGee started to cry, his tears mixing with the slowly fading rain. And for once, Tony made no jokes, stated no movie facts, he just allowed himself to support McGee as all his pain and guilt and anger poured out.

"I'm sorry," McGee sobbed. "I am so sorry."

"There is nothing to be sorry about, Tim, nothing," Tony reassured him, keeping his hold on the younger agent.

And though McGee did not believe this, it was a start.

* * *

Barely a minute had passed when MacCullen came running towards the riverbank, a look of glee on his face.

"Agent Gibbs," he called excitedly. "We found Officer David . . . alive!"


	3. Happy Ending

**Chapter Three: **_Happy Ending_

"How's my favourite patient today, sweetcheeks?" Tony asked brightly, poking his head around the door of Ziva's hospital room.

Ziva rolled her eyes from her hospital bed and looked annoyed. "They still do not wish to let me leave," she announced bitterly.

"Well," Tony started, trying to keep it light, but his words came out slightly sad, "you did almost die, Zee-vah." He paused and frowned. "Scratch that, you did die."

"Do not remind me," Ziva murmured, closing her eyes and leaning back against her pillow.

"Don't have to ask me twice," Tony replied with false cheer. He sighed. Ziva really had died on the way to hospital, but they had managed to restart her heart and here she was, as alive as ever.

Ziva opened her eyes and smiled softly. "So, Agent DiNozzo, what delights did I miss out on today?" She brightened a little as Tony took a seat next to her bed.

"Oh, you know, the usual," he started flippantly. "Dead bodies. Pretty female witnesses. Gibbs verses the Director. Coffee. Just your everyday, really." Tony grinned.

"Sounds like fun," Ziva commented dryly.

"You don't know the half of it," Tony replied, making a face. "I wouldn't mind a few days off, you know." He looked thoughtful. "Maybe I'll have to chuck myself in a river." He looked at Ziva and she knew that he was joking and not making light of her recent accident.

"As long as you do not take me with you," she replied lightly. "I have had enough streams for awhile."

"Deal," Tony smiled and then crinkled his nose. "But I bet Gibbs would have me back at work the next day with a slap on the head. He's had a short fuse ever since you nearly kicked the bucket. He even snapped at Abby the other day, and today Probie . . ." Tony trailed off as he caught Ziva's look and mentally kicked himself.

Ziva had been in the hospital five days. Tony had come everyday, as had Abby. Gibbs had been in most days, trailed by Ducky and Palmer. Jen had visited her twice and she'd even had visits from personnel she only vaguely knew. But the one person she really wanted to see had not made an appearance and it was starting to irritate her.

McGee.

So far, the others had done a good job of avoiding mentioning McGee's name in Ziva's presence. They had learned quick smart that the name of the agent made her moody and somewhat depressed.

"Uh, err, um, well, did I tell you what Abby discovered today?" Tony tried lamely to change the topic, but it didn't work.

"Why has he not been to see me," Ziva asked and Tony knew exactly who she was referring to.

"He's been busy?" Tony tried to make excuses for the absent man. "With the cases and all." But Ziva saw straight through his excuses.

"Don't, just don't," she sighed, looking away. "I do not need you making excuses for him."

"He'll come when he's ready," Tony said quietly. The bond between the two men had strengthened recently, since their moment on perhaps the worst days of their lives. "Just give him some time, Ziva. He'll come."

"But . . ."

"No buts," Tony said firmly. "He's hurting, too. You didn't see him after the accident." Tony shuddered, remembering how broken and alone McGee had looked after he'd lost Ziva.

"Yes, I gather that," Ziva said, and then said so softly that Tony had to strain to hear her, "I just want to tell him it was not his fault."

Tony sighed as he heard Ziva's words. "You know that. I know that. The others know that. But he doesn't. He blames himself. And I don't think he'll ever stop."

"But that is why . . ." Ziva looked frustrated and couldn't finish her sentence. She growled in annoyance.

"I can't force him to come, Ziva," Tony replied gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I've talked to him about it, but he just brushes it off. The others have tried, but they get even less of a reaction that I do."

McGee had barely mentioned the incident in the five days since it had happened, and when he had, it had always been to Tony. It was like McGee was keeping the others at arm's length as if he believed they hated him and blamed him for Ziva's near death.

"Can you try again?" Ziva asked, almost pleaded. "Please?"

Tony nodded slightly. "I can try, but I cannot promise anything."

"I know," Ziva replied quietly. "But you can try." Then she said, louder, "Seen any good movies lately?"

Tony breathed a sigh of relief as Ziva not so subtly changed the subject. "Well, have you seen . . ." Tony started and proceeded to tell Ziva about the latest movie he'd seen, making her laugh.

But still there was one thing that lingered between them . . .

McGee.

* * *

Another two days passed and finally Ziva's doctor announced that she was well enough to go home. She was packing her bags as her doctor, Dr. Riley, was outlining her recovery.

"Now, Ms. David," Dr. Riley said authoritatively, "I must stress the need for at least a week's recuperation . . ."

Ziva opened her mouth to argue, but Dr. Riley cut her off with tone that clearly said 'do not argue with me'.

"And then I strongly recommend light duties for a few weeks after that," Dr. Riley finished, giving Ziva a hard look.

Ziva huffed. "It is not like I was shot or stabbed. It was only a bit of water." She started to collect the get well cards sitting on the table, looking annoyed.

"And that bit of water nearly killed you," Dr. Riley countered seriously. "Your near-drowning experience caused damage to your lungs and your body needs time to get over the hypothermia contracted by the weather. I am going to make this very clear to, uh, whoever picks you up."

"Tony," Ziva supplied, distracted as she placed the pile of cards in her bag.

"Right, Tony," Dr. Riley confirmed. "I am going to make this very clear to . . ."

"Yes, I get the point," Ziva cut her off curtly. "Stay at home for a week, light duty for a few weeks after that, got it." Ziva smiled sweetly at the doctor.

Dr. Riley nodded. "Good. I am going to get your discharge papers ready. A nurse will be in shortly for you to sign them and discharge you."

"Thank you," Ziva thanked, grateful to be finally getting out of this place.

Dr. Riley nodded again and gracefully exited Ziva's room, leaving her alone. She sighed, and sat down on the bed. She had been in the hospital for a week, and McGee still hadn't been to visit her and she was getting fed-up. Ziva had decided that she would make Tony take her to NCIS headquarters on the way home so she could corner the elusive Timothy McGee.

But, as Ziva was about to discover, there was no need for that.

Ziva felt the presence before she heard it. She looked at clock; Tony was a little early, but that was okay. It would be nice to have some company other than the hospital personnel.

"You do know that you are early, Tony," Ziva observed, keeping her back to the door. She received no reply. "Tony?"

Ziva twisted around on the bed just as a male voice whispered, "Ziva."

"McGee?" Ziva gaped, completing the turn faster than she had planned.

"Uh, hi?" McGee stood in the doorway, looking absolutely petrified and awkward.

Ziva blinked twice. She hadn't expected to see McGee standing in her doorway; she had all but given up hope of him coming to visit.

"If this is a bad time, I can, uh, come back?" McGee said so quickly that Ziva almost missed it. He looked ready to run back down the hall and far away from the situation.

"What? No. It is fine," Ziva said after regaining her voice. "Please, come in." She gestured for him to step into the room and he did so timidly, yet he still remained close to door.

"Sorry about the mess," Ziva said conversationally. "Tony is meant to be picking me up today. I'm going home." Ziva smiled.

"I know," McGee responded, blushing. "I mean, Tony, he told me. And he drove me here." At Ziva's quizzical look, McGee added, "He's parking the car. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get a car park. It's not as if this place is a shopping mall . . ." McGee laughed nervously and Ziva looked at him sympathetically.

"You can come closer, I am not going to bite," Ziva commented, adding a small smirk to her comment.

McGee made an almost inaudible noise, but stepped closer to where Ziva was still sitting on the bed. She rose and sauntered over to the kettle Abby had managed to smuggle in.

"Coffee?" she offered, picking up the kettle. "I still have a little wait until my discharge papers come. The coffee is not great, but it is better than the muck they call coffee from the dispenser down the hall."

"Err, okay," McGee replied as Ziva busied herself with filling the kettle. "I-I can do that. You know, if you should be resting . . ." McGee looked awkward.

"I am not an invalid, McGee," Ziva said, her words coming out a little harsher than she had intended. McGee flinched and Ziva groaned internally.

"Sorry," McGee whispered, diverting his eyes.

"Don't apologise, it's a sign of weakness." Ziva tried to humour him, but all it achieved was McGee sinking further into his shell of self-loathing. Ziva mentally kicked herself.

"No, it is I who should be sorry," Ziva corrected gently, putting the kettle on to boil.

McGee looked shocked, but kept his eyes firmly on the ground. "What? What do you have to be sorry for?"

"I should not have snapped at you before, for that I am sorry," Ziva apologised.

McGee blushed again. "You, uh, have every right to be angry with me. I wouldn't blame you. I honestly wouldn't." The devastated look on his face nearly broke Ziva's heart.

"Why would I be angry with you, McGee?" Ziva asked softly, though she had a very good idea as to why McGee might think that.

"Because, well . . . you know," McGee mumbled, the words getting caught in his throat. He blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall.

Ziva sighed and walked up to him. "McGee, look at me." When he didn't comply, Ziva tried again, firmly. "Tim, please look at me."

Slowly, but surely, McGee raised his head so that his face was somewhat level with Ziva's. He still refused to meet her eyes.

"No, look at me," Ziva ordered and gently placed her hands on the side of his face to force it around to look at hers. "That's better." She smiled.

"It was not your fault," Ziva said with pure conviction, keeping hold of McGee's face. "It was not your fault."

McGee blinked and pulled away from her touch. Although he maintained eye contact, he immediately put up some defensive measures.

"You don't understand," he murmured.

"Don't understand what?"

McGee was silent.

"Don't understand what?" Ziva repeated.

Suddenly, McGee burst and said, "I let go of your hand." Ziva faltered. She had never heard such vulnerability and childlikeness in his voice before.

"I let go of your hand," McGee repeated pathetically, in the same tone of voice. He looked at her, disgust at his actions clear in his eyes.

"That was not your fault," Ziva said firmly, almost angrily.

"But I let go." McGee sounded desperate, as if he really wanted Ziva blame him and start yelling.

"It could have happened to anyone," Ziva tried, taking a step closer to McGee. She ignored the kettle as it whistled.

"But it didn't!" McGee burst out. "It was me and I let go! Tony wouldn't have, neither would have Gibbs!" He looked pained.

"How do you know that?" Ziva said reasonably. "It could have been anyone in your position and the water would have been just as strong. It could have been anyone. It could have been me in your position and the water still would have taken me . . . well, you."

"I wish," McGee mumbled so softly that Ziva almost didn't hear it.

"What?"

"I wish it was me that was caught in the stream," McGee spoke, a little louder this time. He sounded weak and tired, and Ziva cursed the Gods for letting this happen in the first place.

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. It was . . . is . . . the only thing I am sure of."

Ziva shook her head angrily. All of this self-loathing was getting on her nerves. It was not good for McGee, or her. He had to understand that there was nothing more that he could have done.

"I do not know what I can do to make you understand it was not your fault," Ziva said harshly. "You do not wish it was you in my position; I certainly do not wish you were in my position. I don't blame you, Tim." She hoped that by using his first name, she would somehow get through to him.

"You don't?" McGee looked disappointed and it pained Ziva to see him like that.

"Fine," she huffed. "I blame you. It was all your fault. You should have held on to me. Gibbs and Tony would not have let go. It is your fault that I nearly drowned!" Although Ziva in no way believed this, she was running out of ways to get McGee to see this.

"It. Is. All. Your. Fault," Ziva managed to say, with as much bitterness as she could muster, though she hated herself for it.

McGee nodded. "Yes, it was my fault." He looked a little relieved at Ziva's declaration.

"No, it wasn't!" Ziva exploded, coughing. She cleared her throat. "It wasn't. I do not know how to make you see that."

"I see it very clearly," McGee stated bitterly. "I killed you."

Ziva looked furious at this new revelation and closed in on McGee's personal space, making him flinch.

"Do I look dead to you?" she snapped, nearly ready to slap him. "Do you think I would be standing here if I were dead?"

"No," McGee breathed.

"No, is correct, McGee," Ziva replied, a lot more calmly. "And that should be enough to convince you. I. Am. Not. Dead. I am here. It was a stupid, stupid accident that could have happened to anyone." She took a breath. "Please, Tim," she almost pleaded. "Stop this . . . I hate seeing you like this."

There was silence and then McGee broke it.

"It-it wasn't my f-fault," he said slowly, as if he were testing out the words. Ziva nodded encouragingly so McGee said with more conviction, "It was not my fault."

"Yes!" Ziva took a step back. "Finally! It was not your fault, Tim!"

"It was not my fault." And then he smiled; the first genuine smile in a week. "It was not my fault!" Ziva grinned.

"It was not my fault," McGee muttered with a smile, getting used to the words.

"Correct, and it took you, what? A week to figure that out? I thought you were cleverer than that," she said cheekily.

"Well, I wasn't thinking straight, was I?"

"No, you weren't, but now?"

"I'm getting there," McGee said truthfully. "I'm not quite there, but I am getting there."

"Good," Ziva smirked. "Because I would hate to take advantage of that . . ."

McGee opened his mouth to ask what she was on about, but instead found Ziva's lips on his own. He nearly choked at the soft kiss, but when he didn't pull back, Ziva deepened it. McGee parted his lips to allow Ziva more access and she pulled him towards her body, pressing against him.

When Ziva finally broke the kiss, she stepped back and smirked at McGee's breathless expression. "That was a thank you."

"Thank you?" McGee squeaked, still in shock over the kiss.

"Yes, for finally snapping out of your, how you say, funk, yes," Ziva answered, still grinning widely. "And anyway, I am not in the habit of kissing men that tried to kill me." She looked flirtatious.

"I . . ." McGee still didn't know how to respond, but was saved when a blonde nurse knocked on her door and entered without waiting to be called in.

"Ms. David, I have your discharge papers," she announced brightly, handing Ziva a pink folder. "If you will just sign here." She pointed to a couple of spots that Ziva signed.

Once the nurse was satisfied with the paperwork, she disappeared and reappeared with a wheelchair. Ziva groaned when she saw it, but the nurse said, "Hospital policy. Oh, and Doctor Riley also wants a word." She paused. "And before you go, your friend, Mr. DiNozzo, left this for you." She handed Ziva an envelope and departed the room with a wave.

McGee's eyes widened at the mention of Tony. "Oh, Tony, he was meant to be picking you, us, up." He looked a little confused as to where the agent might have gotten to. He was about to pull out his phone and ring Tony when Ziva laughed loudly.

"I would not bother if I were you, Tim," she said, still laughing and held out the sheet of paper that must have been in the envelope.

As McGee reached for the piece of paper, he heard the jingle of car keys and saw Ziva holding some that looked strangely like the ones Tony owned.

McGee looked down at the note that Tony had left, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he read:

_Probie, _

_I happen to know that there is a very nice Italian place about five minutes down the road. We passed it on the way here. Perhaps Ziva might like a meal other than the stuff the hospital calls food. Take my car (just don't destroy it) and don't worry about me, I had Abby pick me up. _

_Enjoy yourselves; I know you both need it. _

_Tony :)_

_P.S. She might be getting discharged, McDirty, but I don't think she's up for extra curricular activities just yet. Maybe in a few days . . . ;)_

McGee looked up from the note and saw Ziva smiling at him, sitting dutifully in the wheelchair.

"I am waiting, Tim," she ordered, lounging in the wheelchair.

"Yes, ma'am," McGee saluted before grabbing her bag and hanging it on the handles of the wheelchair. "Ready?"

"I have been ready for a long time, Tim."

_Finis_


End file.
